


100 ways to say i love you

by ppperaltiagooo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, F/M, I Love You, Peraltiago, Tumblr Prompt, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-05 16:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21211847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ppperaltiagooo/pseuds/ppperaltiagooo
Summary: 100 different ways that jake and amy say i love you.





	1. pull over. let me drive for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! :’)
> 
> firstly i wanted to say that i found this list of ways to say i love you along with the idea of writing them as peraltiago one shots here: https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/letsperaltiago.tumblr.com/post/179958024143/peraltiago-i-love-you-prompts/amp
> 
> i’m sure this has been done a million times before but i just thought the idea was really cute. also, sometimes i get sick of writing my multi-chapter fics bc they can be a bit intense so this should give me an outlet to blow off some steam before i go back to writing them! :’)
> 
> hopefully you guys enjoy this first chapter! <3
> 
> ps. none of these will be edited bc they’re just a bit of fun so sorry for any mistakes <3

**1\. pull over. let me drive for a while. (g)**

The Santiago’s are a family known for many things. They are known for intelligence, hard work, particularly fertile females and, last but not least, they are known for having outstandingly strong immune systems. So much so, in fact, that Amy Santiago can’t remember the last time she was sick. The last time she caught the common cold or a stomach flu must have been way back in elementary school, maybe even before that.

Amy never gets sick, and she loves that about herself - but Jake does.

As far as Amy can tell, her husband, Jake Peralta, must not have any white blood cells floating around in his body at all, because she could swear he is sick at least once a month.

Before they got together, Amy was almost entirely convinced that his habit of catching the flu ten times more often in a year than she had in her entire life had a lot to do with his self-care regime. He almost never exercised unless he was chasing down a perp, he ate like his body was immune to diabetes and Amy was pretty sure he didn’t take much time out to take care of his wellbeing; too focused on being the NYPD’s most brilliant and incredibly irritating detective all at once. And when they finally started dating, her suspicions were confirmed.

So, though she has never and will never be a capable cook, Amy hatched a plan. When she and Jake moved in together, she started to feed him as many leafy-green vegetables and healthy fruits as she could, in the hopes that a more varied and balanced diet would stop him from becoming sick quite so often.

And it worked. _Kind of._

It’s the morning after Thanksgiving, and Jake and Amy have a long drive back from Kylie’s new home on the other side of Brooklyn. Amy is trying not to be jealous of the three bedroom house that Kylie and her husband have recently been able to save for (turns out The New York Department of Records pay their workers a hell of a lot more money than the NYPD do). She’s trying not to be jealous of the nursery tucked in at the back of the small home, with the crib in the corner of the room waiting for a tiny baby to cradle to sleep, or the little bump on Kylie’s belly that is almost definitely the reason for her refusing wine at Thanksgiving dinner last night.

She’s trying not to be jealous. She’s _not_ jealous. Amy Santiago doesn’t _get_ jealous.

Jake is sick. Of course he is. He complained of a headache last night and _boom_, now he has a full blown flu. Amy doesn’t understand it; how something so tiny can develop so quickly into something so apparently debilitating.

She is gazing out the window, counting cars as they pass her by. The sun is just starting to come up (they left early because Amy has to go back to work today, a prospect that she is not at all complaining about), and it’s turning the sky a beautiful shade of pale, fresh blue. It’s cold outside, but that’s okay, because the central heating in the car is turned way up and Amy is cosy in the jumper her Abuela knitted her two Christmas’s ago.

She sighs, relaxing back into her seat when Jake’s teeth begin to chatter, and her head shoots around to look at him.

He looks awful. Worse than he did when they set off. He has huge, dark rings around his eyes, and his nose is dry and running. His teeth are chattering against one another and he is trying to steady his shaking hands to make driving easier for himself.

Amy’s heart feels like it might melt in her chest. She hates seeing him like this, but she has to admit that it _is_ kind of cute. He looks like a grumpy, sick toddler, and all she wants to do is cuddle him close and play with his hair and tell him how much she loves him.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches out, places a hand on his bicep and says, “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

Jake glances over at her before training his eyes back on the road. “I’m fine, Ames,” he says in that grumpy toddler voice he always pulls out when he’s unwell.

Amy laughs softly. “Jake, just let me drive. Your sick.”

Jake sighs. “Are you sure?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for her to answer before pulling over and stopping the car.

He falls back into his seat with a sigh, obviously exhausted.

“Come on. Let’s switch seats,” Amy encourages.

As she drives him the rest of the way home, she looks over at the baby she married and thinks that even though he is immature and she hates how often he gets sick, she loves him more than she ever thought she could love anyone before, and that’s enough for her.


	2. it reminded me of you.

**2\. it reminded me of you. (g)**

Amy Santiago hates birthdays.

She always has. Growing older is not fun to her. With each passing year, all she can think of about is the things she hasn’t done already. The goals she hasn’t yet achieved, the tests she hasn’t taken, the fact that her opportunity to become the youngest female Captain in the history of the NYPD is slowly but surely slipping away from her as her body progressively and unswervingly ages.

The day Amy turns thirty-two, she has to go to work, which is not ideal because she is never in a good mood on her birthday. She is thirty-two and still a detective, living in a one bedroom apartment with no boyfriend (she just broke up with Teddy, and she hates to admit it but it’s been a little lonely since then). What has she achieved in life? _Nothing_. Amy has every right to be upset today, and she won’t let anyone take that away from her.

Not even Jake Peralta.

He is being more irritating than ever today, making fun of Amy and her pantsuit and her hair. He keeps trying to talk to her and sliding his chair up close to hers, and she just wants to tell him to go and bother someone else.

So she does.

“Go and pick on someone your own size, Peralta!” Amy exclaims defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

She hears Rosa snort and Jake looks like he is holding back a laugh. She knows what she said might have been childish, but she is so frustrated and angry and totally not in the mood today that for a second she thinks she might slap Jake across his stupid, stupidly-attractive face.

But then he leans in close and whispers, “I won’t make fun of you for saying that since it’s your birthday today.”

He winks at Amy jokingly and slides his chair away, and Amy splutters, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. Why would Jake remember her birthday? Sure, he’s been her partner for five years now but... no one else in the office remembers when her birthday is.

She rolls her eyes and decides to let it go (which, by the way, is a very un-Amy-Santiago thing to do).

Amy finishes work late that night, which she is thankful for because it has prevented her from having the opportunity to think about her birthday. She is gathering her stuff, shoving her paperwork and wallet and keys in her handbag, when she feels someone tap her shoulder from behind.

She spins around, immediately on the defensive when she realises the person behind her is Jake. “Peralta.” She says simply.

“Santiago,” he says, in this weird, annoying, English old man voice that he obviously thinks is the most hilarious thing in the world.

“What do you need?” She asks him, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her toes off of the cold linoleum floor.

“Uh,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I wanted you give you this.”

“Give me what?” She asks with a roll of her eyes, because of course it will be some paperwork from a case they closed weeks ago that he’s left lying around and now needs her to finish.

“It’s a birthday gift,” he says, holding out a thin box. It’s been wrapped in wrapping paper, though not very neatly, and it has a messy little bow on the top of it.

“Oh.” Amy deadpans, shocked. She never would’ve expected a gift from Jake, and now she feels bad for not getting anything for him earlier in the year on his birthday. She makes a mental note to get him something special next year. “Oh,” she repeats. “Thank you, Jake.”

“It’s nothing,” Jake says with a shake of his head and a smile. “It reminded me of you.”

Suddenly, Amy’s birthday doesn’t feel quite so sad.

The next day, Amy uses her new Harry Potter themed pen to write Jake a thank you note in the prettiest handwriting she can think of and leaves it on his desk next to a box of doughnut holes.

It seems Jake Peralta can be sweeter than she thought.


End file.
